


What matters first

by Outerstellah



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Angst, Disabled Character, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outerstellah/pseuds/Outerstellah
Summary: Both Mr. White and Mr. Orange survived, but now Larry knows that he was deceived. The betrayal hurts.





	What matters first

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [here](http://freddynewandyke.tistory.com/10) in 한국어.

 

"I'm sorry, Larry, I'm a..."

The warehouse echoes with the crying. Larry picks his pistol. In his semi-consciousness, he can focus only one thought: killing this rat. He should kill this fucking rat. Mr. Orange distorts his face, as the gunpoint presses against of his temple. He clenches his teeth, twists his body, and makes a noise between agony or fear. Larry suddenly realizes this is the last chance given to him. Things will end up and the rats getting the credit, unless he condemns this young man. The confession is still bursting out from Mr. Orange's mouth.

"I'm, so, sorry..."

A siren starts to ring from somewhere, and somebody is yelling. Larry can't pull the trigger somehow. He blacks out, finding himself still stroking Mr. Orange's face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
The first person came to interrogate Larry is a young officer, but you can never tell who's watching behind the one-way mirror. Larry doesn't tell anything yet. She just shrugs her shoulders, as if she's familiar with the silence. Larry hates the knowing air so that he has to say something cocky.

"How'd thought to send the bastard," Larry says. "Kinda good idea, wasn't it?"  
"Watch your mouth," she says. "You'd better not to call Det. Newandyke like that."

Larry laughs.

"You think that dead fucking rat's pretty cool, don't you?"  
"I said watch your mouth," she looks genuinely upset. "Do not insult Det. Newandyke, I'm warning you. He's outstanding. Everybody said it's impossible to get Joe Cabot but he did it. He made you guys shoot each other, like fucking clown, remember? And you know what, he's... he's not dead." The voice quivers a little. "He's still unconscious, but... he's gonna make it."  
"Please say 'hi' and 'die' to him," Larry says.

Det. Newandyke, it is.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Larry hears what they say over the bars of the slammer. It has been one week 'Det. Newandyke' being out cold. Doctors may have expected the hope because he's young, but perhaps it may be fatal that he bled too much and the rescue was too late. Talking whether Newandyke's passing the crisis tonight, they glance Larry's cell, and Larry meets their gaze straight. They start to lower their voice down and look black at him.

 

 

* * *

  

 

Mr. White got ten years for his crime. On an armed robbery and two murders. Closing his case, the prosecutor indirectly mentioned Mr. Pink and Larry guessed he was decided a little less than himself. Nobody told about 'Det. Newandyke' and Larry neither asked.

Larry trusted him. Trusted, treated him kindly, and almost liked him. So the betrayal hurts. Every time Larry reminds the talks they shared, he has to struggle with his profound resentment. More and more Larry becomes regretful not to have pulled the trigger, as time goes by.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
It is the day before Larry moves to his prison. He's told that someone wants to meet him, but he doesn't have any idea about who's coming. There's no 'family' to come or 'friends' to drop by a jail to see him. Then he realizes, opening the door of the visiting room. He sees dirty blonde hair over the thick glass, and his heart sinks.

Mr. Orange looks worn. He may have survived, but it seems that he hasn't fully recovered. His face is pale and his body appears more fragile than ever. Bandages wrap around his upper body, especially through his left shoulder and arm. Larry makes a scraping noise pulling his chair and Mr. Orange slowly raises his head. Their eyes meet.

"Hello, Larry."  
"Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch."

The guards stare at Larry with fierce glances. But Mr. Orange shakes his head like it doesn't matter, and then he asks them to leave the room for a moment. After a short hesitation, they salute and get out.

There are only two of Larry and Mr. Orange in the room. Both seem like waiting for each other to break the silence. Larry glares at him with his largest hostility, but Mr. Orange just stares at the corner, avoiding the gaze. Larry takes the first word, losing his patience.

"Why the fuck are you looking for me?" He says.  
"I'm sorry, Larry."  
"I said shut the fuck up," Larry says in a low voice. "'s so fucking terrible when you say my name, Mr. Orange. Or should I call you Mr. Detective from now on?"  
"It's Freddy," Mr. Orange shrinks himself. "My name's Freddy N..."  
"Well, nice to meet you, Freddy," Larry spits words out. "Seems like you made it, apparently. The rats wouldn't die easily, would they?"  
"Larry, I..."  
"What a sneaky little cheater. Can't believe you deceived me the whole time."

Mr. Orange goes speechless. The more Larry talks, the more anger is bursting out.

"How's feeling about being a hero? Got so much compliment, I guess. Isn't it so much fun to make me kill my old friends, get me here and ruin my entire life?"  
"......"  
"What was it like to fool around with us?"

Larry trembles with rage. He has to clench his fist not to stutter.

"Should have shot your damn face in the warehouse," Larry says.

Mr. Orange bits his lip. He inhales slightly like he's going to say something, but the next moment, he closes his mouth again. Silence fills the room. Larry leans back against the steel chair. Sounds squeaking. Mr. Orange holds his head down and fiddles his finger.

"Was everything a lie?"

Freddy lifts his head a little. His eyes wince. Larry thinks it's quite hypocritical.

"Are the whole words you said just a part of the big joke? Even saying that you love me?"  
"Stop it."  
"You loved being fucked by me, didn't you? I know you liked it. Crying. Begging. Craving for my cock. Now I guess that's what you detective do, slut."  
"Please, Larry, stop it," Freddy shivers. "I'm.... I'm not here for... for this."

And they go quiet. A few minutes pass. It is the door opening that breaks the silence.

"Sir?"

A police officer appears.

"Your time's over."

Freddy looks back in reluctance, still sitting. "Aha." A stupid breath comes out of his mouth. Larry's door opens and the guard comes in. Larry gets up slowly to his feet, but Mr. Orange moves slower. The officer tries to help Freddy, but is refused by a waving hand.

It is then. Larry feels something is weird. It's Freddy's left shoulder and arm, wrapped up in a bandage. The angle's awkward. Words slips out before thinking.

"What's wrong with your arm?"  
"Oh." Freddy responses.

"It's Cabot," and he says, with a bitter smile. "He shot me, at that last moment, remember?"  
"What happened? Is it broken? How's a gunshot broke..."  
"Can't feel it any more," Freddy blurts.

Larry's head starts to pound.

"Damaged on nerves, the doctor says..." Freddy looks up Larry, murmuring his words. But he closes his mouth again and bites his lips. Before Larry says something, the guard pulls Larry out of the room.

They can't say goodbye after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The pounding started from his head spreads into his face, neck, and the whole upper body. Larry sniffles. A complex, unsolved something tangles in his brain. Confusing. It is confusing.

The kid should have told the story first. If he had done so, Larry would not have wasted the time, speaking such a nonsense. He might have said something better than that. He surely have.

Somehow he knows Freddy would never see him again. Larry has finally found out his name. But everything's useless yet.

 


End file.
